Crime and Crème Brûlée
by Rayless Night
Summary: Naoto had two cases, the real one and the one she took on for her best friend. Anyone could guess which would be the end of her.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Persona IV is the property of Atlus. This is a four chapter story. Rating is for language, suggestive themes, and mild violence.

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**Crime and Crème Brûlée

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**Day One**

June 2015, the sixteenth. The sun's hitting the blinds, casting shadows like the stripes on a prison jumpsuit. The slats of my ceiling fan swing in a lazy backhand, and all I can do is toy with that bottle. Squat, dark as molasses, the light oozing off it in oily slicks. Like thirst, its allure never diminishes.

Hardly a knock and she's there, slim with a vivacity hammered to listlessness. She drags herself over to my desk, the pinprick heels of her shoes tapping like a metronome. Perches one thigh on the edge, tilts those sad eyes at me and says, "Sheez, Naoto-kun, still got that cold?"

I sniff by way of answer and return the bottle of cough syrup to the desk, reaching instead for the overstuffed box of tissues. "It's clearing up. I should get back to work tomorrow, Thursday at the latest."

Rise _tsks_. "Too bad. When I heard you were coming out here, I thought we'd actually have a chance to have some fun." She cranes her neck around, evaluating the hotel suite I've rented for the next two weeks, as this case shouldn't last out the month. It's nice, not as expensive as I could've gone (and have gone sometimes), but I felt it was best to remain inconspicuous. It's fortunate that Rise's still hardly a name in America, otherwise I couldn't risk becoming known through any association with her.

I clear my throat, speaking slowly. If I talk fast, my nose jams up and starts squeaking, my throat tickles, my eyes water - it's not impressive. "But it looks like you got that free time you wanted."

"Yeah, they're busy shooting outdoor scenes this morning. I don't need to show up until four. I think he said four." She looks down, forehead rippled with doubt. "_English_. I still can't understand what they're saying half the time. Oh, but I do know 'DO OVER'. They say that one to me a lot."

I make a sympathetic sound in my throat - start coughing. For the past three days, I've been bedridden, and today I thought I'd try to move around more. So I've planted myself behind the desk, but it's really no different. All I've done is haul my pillow to the chair and burrow into the comforter Kanji made for me last year. (I must've let slip how much I feel the cold, because he gave it to me without the slightest provocation. I usually pack it if I'm going to be traveling for a lengthy period.) In any case, I still feel bedridden. Maybe I should let up the blinds, get some light in here...

Coughing makes my eyes water, and after I squeeze them shut for a moment, I notice Rise watching me in that nonchalant way that means she needs favors. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she says easily. "No, everything's fine, I just..." She tilts her head back to study the ceiling, rolls her curls off her left shoulder, then looks me dead in the eye. "I'm in trouble."

I raise my eyebrows.

"There's this guy."

She doesn't sound frightened, or even worried. Pain tap-dances between my eyes. I shut them, leaning back in my chair.

"You remember my costar, Adam Oliver? And you remember the film's star, Celia Sheridan? And how she's quitting the project because she's pregnant and all that? Well, it's drawn a lot of press on this film, and everyone wants to drum up more interest. And since Adam dated Celia Sheridan a couple years ago, he's all interesting to the fans right now, and the executive producer wants us to go out. Nothing permanent, just publicity junk to draw the public eye, you know? And..." I can hear her shift, tapping the toe of her shoe against the floor for a moment. "When it's about the public eye this way, I'm thinking I need a private eye."

I'd open my eyes except that the headache's getting much worse, more like a train all of a sudden. "Please clarify."

"He's a jerk. That is, I want to know that he's one." I open my eyes. Rise's leaning over my desk, light brown gaze almost level with mine. "I need you to dig up some dirt on him."

I clear my throat again. "Rise-chan, if you don't want to date him-"

"I'm gonna lose my part! It's not like anyone's going to cry if I get replaced, because no one in America has any clue who Risette is. And I really want to work on this project. So I need to find out something about him that's so terrible they won't make me date him. Plus-" She leans back, eyebrows angled anxiously, nibbling her lower lip. "I'm a little worried about what - Senpai will think."

I sigh, refusing to be drawn into an analysis of my best friend's ever-evolving relationship with Souji. At least, not right now. I reach for a tissue. "Rise, I'm in the middle of a case already-"

"Then let me sweeten the deal for you, Detective Prince." She leans forward, delicate jaw tensed. "Do this, and I promise, I solemnly vow, I will never release your measurements to the public."

The tissue pauses halfway to my nose. Rise's had many an occasion to threaten me with my three-size, and it's always gotten the results she wanted. For her to relinquish that blackmail...this must be important.

More than that, if I can finally silence her concerning that, it will be worth any extra effort on my part. With as much dignity as I can command, I dab at my pink nose. "That is satisfactory. Do you have a deadline?"

"All business," Rise says, eyelids curving with admiration. "Well, before the week's out would be best. There's going to be a press event this Monday, and that's when Adam and I are supposed to sell ourselves as a couple." In a moment, she's lunged across the desk, hugging me around the neck, scattering my tissues, dislodging my hat, and nearly capsizing me. "Thanks, Naoto-kun! Don't worry, I'll find something else to blackmail you about soon enough." Then, as listless as a butterfly, or maybe a dandelion puff, she floats out, waving one hand behind her.

I reach for the cough syrup.

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I'm deadlocked until one-thirty, both from my cold and the increasing calls from my clients. I'm fluent enough in English that I can speak it without much thought, a mercy to my congested head, and the ill thickness of my voice adds to the illusion that I'm male. In Japan, my sex is still a gradual revelation to my colleagues, and in America, I'm less known than Rise, so I doubt the detectives here will discover my secret. Still, cross-dressing is becoming more complicated; though passing for a sixteen-year-old boy was second nature, posing as a twenty-year-old man is impossible. I find myself tampering with my carefully cultivated records, changing not only my gender but my year of birth, all to maintain an illusion. Sooner or later, it'll all come clear, and I find myself wondering if I face that with dread or relief.

But today, with my throat scratchy and my sinuses rebelling, I have more immediate concerns. After fortifying myself with toast and lemon tea, I brush my hair, set my cap straight, and venture outside. I've already searched the Internet for any superficial clues relating to Adam Oliver, and it's time to do some digging.

This film, a small independent project being shot partially in New York City, has only flickered on the public's radar since its star's dramatic announcement of pregnancy. Celia Sheridan was slated to bring both interest and money to the film. Which she has, though in a way she couldn't have expected. Some of the paparazzi followed her back to California, but many remain to speculate over the rest of the cast and crew. It's easy to track their movements, but getting close to them proves problematic. Even the Best Boy, whose role in film-making I can't even guess at, is accompanied by a cordon of paparazzi when he stops at a sidewalk vendor for a soft pretzel. If I fail to gain any new information concerning Oliver, I manage to track the crew's movements. With an early start tomorrow, I should be able to interview a paparazzo or two.

All afternoon I've been assailed by calls from colleagues on my other - my _actual _- case, sorting through the new clues, conducting a haphazard interview with a spray-painted individual who wanted to sell me sunglasses, and dispatching my underlings - that is, colleagues - to follow up on these leads. I return to my suite after sundown. At some point, I must have eaten a pizza slice somewhere, because I notice a tomato stain on the inside of my right shirt sleeve as I step back into my apartment. Also, there's a bag of root beer-flavored throat lozenges in my pocket. (I hate root beer, is there a receipt so I can exchange them?) I do remember the moment I called up a nearby bakery and ordered a box of eclairs to be sent up to my rooms. It had been 2:43, and I already knew it was going to be an infernal afternoon, and I needed a reason to come back to the hotel instead of jumping the next plane for Tokyo.

I'm being melodramatic. I must refrain from that.

My colleagues are still calling me as I eat one eclair, as I attempt to check my texts, as I soak in the tub for a solid hour, as I'm sniffling my way through another eclair. Around eleven, there's a brief respite while I huddle in my pajamas, open my laptop, and try to concentrate on some posts in a forum devoted to Adam Oliver. It's devolved into Real Person Fanfiction by the time I back-click and the cell beeps again. I flip it open without looking and croak, "Yes?"

There's a fumbling on the other end, the sound of someone removing a phone from their ear in order to be sure they've got the right number. I check my own phone, then clear my throat. "Kanji-kun, are you still there?"

I can hear the hum of a sewing machine in the background. It's around noon on the seventeenth in Japan, and I can't help thinking tomorrow's probably better over there. "Yeah. Shit, I thought I was talking to your gramps for a moment. You okay?"

I clear my throat again, and my voice emerges passably normal. "I'm better."

"How's the case going? You gonna be heading back soon?"

There's hope in his voice, and I'd blush if he were here, but with half a planet between us, I am a rational being. "I hope so. We made a lot of progress today, and I should be able to close the case in a matter of days. Though I..." I draw a steadying breath. "...did receive an additional assignment this morning." And I sketch the essentials of Rise's request.

"Huh..." he says slowly, consideringly. Sometimes Kanji draws his words out because he's not following what's going on, and other times he does it to hide the fact that his mind has launched into overdrive. "That's...interesting."

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"What?" he yelps. "Nothing's wrong."

"What's wrong?'

"Nothing! I just - er - I just sewed two sleeves together, that's all."

"What's wrong?" With Kanji, convoluted arguments aren't necessary. Persistence is often enough.

"Shit," Kanji mutters under his breath, then, louder, "I dunno if this is supposed to be a surprise for you, but Souji-senpai's going over there to see Rise. Like, a big surprise for her and all. I think he might even propose or something. Anyway, I was just thinking, with her arm candy there...Might make things awkward."

I almost resort to a four-letter word myself, but some force of will restrains me. I reach across the bed for another eclair, then settle back on the pillow and tuck Kanji's comforter up around my chin. "I'm confident that I can satisfy Rise's request in a matter of hours. It will have resolved itself long before Senpai arrives."

Something in my own voice must've betrayed me, because Kanji's "Uh-huh" is dubious. "Sure. And then it's back home?"

I smile against my phone. "As soon as possible."

"Great." I could almost reach out and touch the sudden warmth in his voice. And then, abruptly, it's off. "But, uh, not immediately."

I shrug away the comforter. "Oh? Why not?"

"Er - well, Souji-senpai was saying he needed a place to crash before he surprised Rise. And so we thought about you, and how you might not let him stay with you, so Yosuke-senpai said it would be better to arrive unexpectedly...but I've kinda nixed that to begin with. Well, anyway, Senpai's relying on you for room and board so he can surprise Rise."

"I _see_." I draw the words out myself, and it's not because I don't know what to say. I close my eyes and sigh. "Well...I can't very well leave Souji-senpai in the lurch. I'll call him tomorrow and make the necessary arrangements."

"And then back home?"

"Yes. And then I refuse to leave Japan for another year." I pause, a smile twitching up my mouth, and even though he can't see it, I'm still self-conscious. "I mailed you a postcard yesterday."

"You did?" A pause. "Why?"

"Ah - well..." I fidget with the comforter's edge. "I know it's much easier to simply call you but... the card made me think of you." I believe my blush has bypassed the visible spectrum into infrared. "It has...kittens on it."

There is a protracted silence, then an impassioned gulp. Kanji's voice wobbles. "Shit - I - Naoto, I - uh-"

"If you don't know what to say, that's fine," I say in a rush. "Don't say anything." Rather grimly: "Every moment I'm on the phone with you is a moment I'm not talking to my colleagues."

He clears his throat, hard, and the wobbling's gone. "Right. Sure. Anytime."

"Is-" My nose squeaks. Hoping he didn't hear, I refold my tissue and wonder if there's any discreet way to blow my nose so the phone doesn't pick it up. I decide to bear it stoically. "Is there anything else?" I realize belatedly that my question could be taken as a prologue to ending the conversation. I want there to be something else, and not only to keep my colleagues at bay. If we were together, Kanji might be able to see the hopefulness in my face, but here, I can only communicate through my voice. Phones are wretched media for real discourse. So, at the moment, is my voice.

"Uh...nah. So yeah, we'll talk later?"

A plea creeps up my voice, but I swallow it before I speak. "Certainly. Good night, Kanji-kun." I wait to hear him hang up, meanwhile he waits to hear me hang up - and I grimace and hang up, then frown at the phone. Just as it beeps. I check the number, sigh, then hand myself back over to my colleagues.


	2. Chapter 2

**Day Two**

"...No...No, I understand, Senpai."

"Of course you do," comes Souji's voice. "You just kind of wish you didn't."

"Don't be ridiculous," I snap, which nearly starts me coughing. Initially, I disliked being around Souji because he reads me so easily, and while I've accustomed myself to it for the most part, the old annoyance still reasserts itself from time to time. Even through the phone, Souji has read me ably. I'd argued that this was New York City, there were ample places he could stay, and cheap. Souji had argued right back that nothing would be cheaper than staying with me, it would only be for a few days, and I'd be right there to help him plot his proposal to Rise.

"So we're good?"

"Ah..." The words, _Senpai, of course, I _am_ female, you are male, and I do not travel with a chaperone_, hover in my thoughts, then I push them down. My Shadow made my sex obvious to my friends, and I have no reason to suspect Souji of ulterior motives. We are both rational, disciplined, and very platonic adults. "Yes. This is...acceptable."

"I'll help with the housework," Souji promises. "And I'll meet you at JFK at five-thirty. Damn, my jet lag will be mighty..."

Nine-thirty in the morning sees me in Rise's trailer, which she's sharing with five other actresses. Four of them are filming, one more's slumped in a sleeping bag. She watches me with rather too much interest and is clearly disappointed as Rise and I walk to the small window and begin conversing in Japanese.

"So, what've you heard?" Rise's just back from shooting scenes all through the night and doesn't even excuse herself as she starts daubing make-up remover on her cheeks.

"Nothing that a obsessed fan couldn't have learned. I need insider information." I nod to her.

"Hey, I'm hiring _you_ to get the dirt on him. I don't know anything. Other than that he's a horrible kisser." She sighs. "There is nothing so artificial and gross as a love scene, and the director wanted-"

I wave my hand to cut that off. "Yes, but can you arrange for me to meet him?"

"Huh?" She raises her eyebrows, both in surprise and to smear away some of the bronze eye-shadow. "You're going to ask him straight out? _Hey, Adam, are you a jerk?_"

"See if you can get me an interview." I think a moment. "Say that you know me, but don't stress that we're close friends. Give me an alias while you're at it."

"Why? I mean, he wouldn't care if you were my boyfriend or something. He knows I have a boyfriend. He has about three girlfriends. This is all for publicity."

"Trust me," I say, pulling out my phone as it beeps. My colleagues. "And the last thing you should do is say I'm like a brother to you. Now, I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, it looks like they've brought in a witness."

Two hours are spent interviewing the witness, another forty minutes looking over our accumulated data. Five minutes are spared for lunch, after which I absent myself from the other detectives, knowing that even if I never outrun their phone calls, at least I can get away from _them_ and try to find some perspective. For me, solving a case has always been a matter of constantly changing angles, shifting points of view, trying to look at clues in as many ways as possible. As the evidence accumulates and cancels out variables, my focus systematically narrows and sharpens, streamlining my theories until I arrive at the truth. This is hard to accomplish when sitting across a table from three other detectives, all annoyed, all frustrated at being in the shadow of a investigator who's not only foreign but is successful at a fraction of their average height, weight and age. The only thing that could make it worse is if they find out I'm a woman.

Rise calls as I'm sitting on a streetside bench, trying to gather my thoughts, watching a steady stream of commuters, shoppers making for the outdoor market, tourists pausing to snap pictures every twenty steps, and dog-walkers heading for a dog park.

"I've told him you're Akira Ohtani, a writer for a Japanese fan-magazine - _Beautiful Adonis Oliver_. He was going to Google it, so I said that you're working on the first issue, and then he only agreed to the interview as a favor to me. He doesn't really have a Japanese audience, so he might just blow you off, but see what you can do. It's tomorrow at 12:30 at Il Buttafuori, on-"

"Yes, I know where it is. Thank you, Rise-chan." I take a deep breath, which sets me to coughing. A passing dachshund, leashed, cocks its head at me. "I believe this will be resolved shortly."

"I know you can do it, Naoto-kun," she chirps. "Later. I have to get ready for the alligator scene." And she's gone.

Picking up Souji at the airport gives me an excuse to get away from the other detectives in the evening, and while I grab a sandwich and a taxi one after the other, my mind is spinning with information on the crime case. By the time I mentally surface for air, I'm standing at the concourse, trying to find Souji as it disgorges passengers. Don't see him. Has he already made it to the baggage claim?

"Hey, Naoto-kun." He probably sees me jump with surprise, but at least he doesn't allude to it. He does have the gall to hug me, though he releases me before I've even begun to splutter - that is, protest. Even with the smile, he looks exhausted, silver hair disheveled, baggy eyes, rumpled clothes. I'm suddenly relieved I didn't make him fend for himself first thing after landing. I keep the conversation brief as we pick up his luggage, step into the muggy evening. There's a small sofa in the front room of my suite (the only other room besides the bedroom and the bathroom), so Souji's able to collapse once we get in, pausing only long enough to kick off his shoes and burrow partway under the extra blanket I found in the closet. Even when my phone begins beeping, he doesn't stir. Still, I go into my room and close the door to have it out with my colleagues. "_Yes?_"

"Uh-" throat-clear "-hey?"

"Oh, Kanji-kun, I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was you."

"S'no problem." I can hear clinking in the background. Dishes, perhaps. Maybe he's at Aiya? "The others giving you hell? Your voice sounds better."

"Yes, and thank you. Souji-senpai arrived safely."

"Good, Yosuke and Teddie were worried. Everything...okay on your end?"

"Quite." I hear the bubbling of water and - really, I'm just curious, that's all. "Where are you?" That doesn't sound casual enough, not by half. "That is, what are you doing?"

"Just making breakfast." Ah yes, it's mid-morning there. Is it as humid there, I wonder? I also wonder what he's making, but I refrain from asking. Really, there's no reason I need to know. "So you found a place for Senpai to stay or what?"

"No, he's here. That is, I gave him the use of my front room. Of course." I'm holding the phone to my ear, and I can feel my cheek warm against my fingers. Stupid, of course. My friends know me, they'd never suspect me of - Souji and me of- "He's practically comatose," I elaborate, though that's unnecessary, and my voice is getting higher, which means a coughing jag isn't far off. "It's going to be miserable for him, and we're not going to be seeing much of each other anyway. I'll be out most of the time, so it's almost like he has his own suite, really." I am being ridiculous. I can only hope Kanji can't tell. I should've employed bigger words, that would've distracted him from the nervousness in my voice. "I'm waiting for a call from one of the other detectives, so..."

"Oh." Damn. I hate it when he sounds hurt. Oh damn. "Okay, sure." And then he tries to hide it, which makes it worse. "Later."

"Kanji, I - thank you for calling. I really do appreciate it, though I'm - busy."

"No problem," he says again, more normally.

"Yes. Well." I wipe my free hand against my trouser leg. Why is it always so hot here? "Um...what are you having for breakfast?"

Long pause. I don't blame him for it. "...Natto. With tea."

I lean against the wall and dwell on that a moment, Kanji, in his kitchen, eating natto and tea. It's probably sunny. The cat might be there, crouched in front of her dish. Perhaps Kanji's in the middle of sewing something and has left it on the table, within easy reach. I realize I'm smiling as I find myself wondering what he's eating the natto with...and if I continue this a second longer, I know I'm going to ask and look even more ridiculous. "Well. Good night then. Good morning rather." And I end the call.

Just as the phone beeps again. Almost glad to return to the safety of my colleagues, I restore the phone to my ear. "_Yes?_"

"Uh...Whoa, Naoto-kun, were you waiting for me to call?"

"Oh - I'm sorry, Rise-chan. Is there a problem?"

"Well..." I do detect an impatient edge to her voice, amplifying as she speaks. "It's just been a really sucky day. I hate the director, and I hate Adam Oliver. He's already 'practicing' for our big couple debut on Monday, holding my hand and putting his arms around me. Argh, it'd be bad enough if he meant it, but everything he does is so practiced! And then when I wanted to call Senpai and tell him about everything, he didn't pick up."

"He's probably busy," I say quickly - but perhaps too quickly.

"Yeah, but it feels like so long since I've talked to him, and we haven't seen each other in almost a month and..." A heavy sigh. "Well, at least I got to vent to someone. 'Night, Naoto. You better get your beauty sleep so you'll be able to tackle Adam tomorrow. Figuratively, natch. Though...if you did want to tackle him and put him in traction, I wouldn't complain. I mean, only if you can't find a reason to have him imprisoned. Take it under advisement, all right?"

From the next room over, I hear Souji mumble something in his sleep. No reason the phone should pick that up. Still..."Good night, Rise-chan. I'm sure-" I take a deep breath, then cough "-everything will go well tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

**Day Three - Morning**

There is a very sharp pine cone down my throat when I wake. My penance for not remaining in bed while still sick. I fumble at the bedside table for my throat lozenges, artificial root beer flavor or not. For a moment, I revolt, squirming back under the covers, pulling the soft comforter to my face, closing my eyes and promising myself three more hours of sleep. Then my conscience reminds me, in a voice rather like Grampa's, only more nasal, that I am Naoto Shirogane, fifth of my line, Detective Prince. I am not to be outmaneuvered by a cold.

Just now, I cannot see anything worthwhile about being Naoto Shirogane.

I blast the shower, hoping the steam will clear my head, and by the time I'm fumbling with my tie, my throat has settled down to a scratchy ache. But my head's still congested, and I can't cope with a tie, not even a neck ribbon. My shirt matches my trousers and both are clean. That is quite enough for today. I trudge to the door, remembering, right as I turn the handle, that I'm playing host. I shut the door, knock, then, as there's no answer, open it again.

Souji is face-down on the couch, snoring. Looking past him, I see the beginnings of breakfast - he appears to have heated some water, and there are the contents of four eggs in a mixing bowl. My good senpai evidently wished to greet me with a meal, but his jet lag proved stronger than his generosity. He sleeps as I make myself a soggy plate of scrambled eggs and throw together some uninspired instant coffee. I confess, it's awkward eating with him sleeping right there. I don't linger, heading off to meet with my colleagues.

My cold ensures that I'm hardly hungry by 12:25, when I walk into Il Buttofuori to meet Adam Oliver. But I've hit my stride, having spent the morning working on the other case - made quite a few breakthroughs, all we need is the baklava vendor to come forward with testimony and we'll have our man - so I'm quite ready to interview Rise's would-be swain. Il Buttofuori is sunlit, elegant without being overbearing. I find Oliver already seated at a small table secluded by half a partition and an artificial potted tree. Blond, shaggy, and disheveled in that careful way that I can't respect, he doesn't rise when I approach, merely lifting one eyebrow.

"Mr. Oliver," I say, extending my hand, tone neutral, voice slow enough that I can both mask my cold and maintain a lower pitch, "I am Akira Ohtani, of _Beautiful Adonis Oliver_. I'm very pleased to meet you."

He gives my hand a quick shake, drops it, and looks at me. I sit, hands folded in lap. "So," Oliver says after a moment, "you're Japanese? That's cool. Uh..." He drums his fingers on the table. "I didn't know I had any fans in Japan. Uh... I used to watch Pokémon, that's Japanese." Quick smile, followed by more finger-drumming. "What was your name again?" I repeat it. "So what do I call you? I know you got all those screwy name things..."

"Please call me by my surname," I say. "Ohtani." I decide not to bother explaining honorifics. (As for the name itself, I'll have words with Rise later about her choice in pseudonyms.)

"Okay, sure," Oliver yaps, then picks up his menu, ignoring me. I frown, but as he is taking time out of an undeniably busy schedule to give me this interview, it is my duty to be accommodating. In this way, we manage not to say anything until after the waiter has brought us water, taken our orders, left, and Oliver has tapped out the beat of the William Tell Overture with his fingers. Twice.

I clear my throat - sounds good, if not perfect. "Well then, shall we begin?" I reach into my pocket. "Do you mind if I record you?" He waves his hand negligently and I place my recorder/gps/scientific calculator/radio/compass/strobe light between us (I made it last year; I could do better now), pressing the correct button. I lean my elbows on the table and plait my fingers. "Firstly, thank you for giving this interview. I am only an acquaintance of Ms. Kujikawa. This is very generous of you both." He shrugs. I ask him routine questions - what does he think of his role, what are his opinions about the project, etc, etc - until our meals arrive. After he gives me a tender anecdote from his childhood (rattled off with hardly a thought), I click the recorder off, return it to my pocket, and surreptitiously click it on again. "Well, I believe that concludes our interview."

"Sure." Oliver grimaces. We're only halfway through our lunch, and he's probably hoping I'll have a reason to leave.

Now my work begins. Fortifying myself with a sip of water, I drop my shoulders and relax in my chair. If I could adopt an air as nonchalant as Souji's this might be easier, but I've been doing this long enough to trust playing to my strengths. Distance will do the job, eventually. "Are things easier with Ms. Sheridan off the project?"

He doesn't look startled - I'm sure many reporters have already asked him - but he does glance again to ascertain that my recorder's no longer out. "Eh, she's batshit." He shrugs and laughs.

I take another sip, hiding my frown. "From what I've heard, everything's been going smoothly for you and Ms. Kujikawa." Haven't heard any such thing, but if he assumes his "relationship" with Rise is common knowledge, he'll be much more likely to be open about it. As open as an actor with a publicist's agenda ever is.

"Yeah..." He trails off, watching me rather more carefully. He stirs his diet soda with his straw, the motions of carelessness. "You said you were tight with Rise?"

My eyebrows jump. "I beg your pardon?" I reach for my fork and spear an avocado wedge. "I've seen her movies. I've spoken with her manager before. He's the one who really arranged this interview."

"So you're not even friends?" Oliver's still feeling this out.

"Not at all."

He gives me a dubious look that I pretend not to see, then relaxes, slumping forward, elbows on table as he pokes through his beef strips. "She's kind of a slut, truth be told." I don't have to fake my surprise. The lift to my eyebrows is all he needs, embarking on a long, if scattered, soliloquy concerning Rise's faults and virtues - giving examples of both that keep me surprised. He moves on to her appearance, then vivid speculation of her romantic life, much of it....betraying some of the...unorthodox workings of his own mind. I nod, make vague comments, and try to concentrate on what he says, though the more he goes on, the more I don't want to listen. Only at the end does his suspicion return, and he adds quickly, "But, you know, we all find our inner beauty. I love her more than anything."

I nod tightly. I'd dropped my right hand in my lap, the better to shred my napkin while listening to him. It was imperative to establish that I am no close associate of Rise's - if Oliver felt I had the slightest interest in her welfare, he'd never be candid with me. If he thought I was a woman, he'd never be candid with me. And he certainly has been candid with me. Being a woman and being Rise's friend, it's all I can do not to stand and heave my chair at him, be candid right back. Guns are efficient, but in this instance I believe blunt force would be more satisfying than a bullet.

"Well," I say with some effort, trying to keep my voice steady, both to remain calm and to keep it in its lower register, "it's nearly two. Thank you for giving me so much of your time, Mr. Oliver."

"No problem." He blinks, as if realizing he's just been divulging to a complete stranger. But then, I'm only a writer for a little-known Japanese magazine. His flops his napkin onto the table and doesn't notice as I reach into my pocket and turn off the recorder.

There's a message from Rise on my voice mail when I step out of the restaurant. I put a block between myself and Il Buttofuori, then call her.

"So?" she asks, apprehensive. "Did you get anything...good?"

"If by good, you mean incriminating..." I pause and take a deep breath, still unable to calm down. I end up coughing, finally managing to say, "I think it would be in your best interests to avoid any closer association with Oliver." Honestly, if he comes near her, I'll shoot him...costar or no costar.

"Oh, tell!" she tweets. "No, wait, I'm on break, I'll be at your suite in twenty minutes."

"Hm." I cough again, thinking of my house guest, probably still asleep on the couch. "No. Not my suite."

"Why not?"

"The maid's probably going through it right now," I invent. "We'll meet elsewhere. Union Square?"

"Uh...'kay. Sure. See you in about twenty then."

One of my colleagues calls me as I'm walking, hunting for a lozenge in my pocket because I can feel coughing coming. We've heard a tip the baklava vendor is cracking, will probably be in contact later. But there's a good chance the owner of the Taste of Djibouti restaurant will try to stop him, so he needs protection - and I haven't brought a lozenge, it transpires - and by the time the coughing fit is over, I'm breathless and can only acknowledge the news with monosyllables. And by the time he's done, my phone is beeping again. _"Yes?"_

"Morning, Naoto-kun."

"Good afternoon, Senpai. Did you sleep well?"

"Afternoon?" A stifled yawn. "Sheesh, didn't realize it was this late. Sorry about that."

"Think nothing of it. Is anything wrong?"

"Well-" I can hear a jumble across the phone - perhaps he's stood or begun pacing "-I'm gonna need your help springing this on Rise-chan."

"Ah...well..."

"No, no, don't worry."

"I'm not worrying-"

"You sound apprehensive. More so than usual. Everything's going to be copacetic."

"Senpai-" I mentally flail for excuses to remain aloof from this. "Pr-proposing to someone must be a very personal event. I strongly feel this should be between you and Rise-chan."

"Yeah, don't worry, I'm not going to propose to _you_. I mean, you'd turn me down."

"Senpai, you are my friend and I am willing to forgive much, but I fail to see the humor in twitting me like-"

"Right. I promise, Naoto Shirogane, you will play no part in the actual proposal. I just need you to get me from point A to point B."

I frown. "Must a proposal demand such strategy?"

"It does when your beloved likes a production."

"You have a point," I admit. "Rise does like things to be elaborate."

"And I like making Rise happy. So yeah, I need you to help me coordinate. Which is what you're good at, Naoto-kun. No one plans better."

"At the moment-" I sneeze "-I rather wish that were not the case."

He disregards that one. "So let's meet up and plan?"

"Uh - presently. I'm busy. I'll call you when I can." And hang up before he can suggest anything else. Damn. Why did I ever acquire friends? Rise wants information (and blackmails me), Souji imposes on me (but does it so good-naturedly I can't resent him without looking bad), Kanji -

Actually, my mood lifts at the thought of Kanji. Whatever faults he has, he is not, at the moment, demanding anything of me. I still have several blocks to go before I reach Union Square, and I'd like to clear my head before meeting with Rise. But if I walk in silence, chances are all too good one of my colleagues will call again. Therefore, I must chose my own ground. I call Kanji. Talking to him will be the next best thing to clearing my head.

There's a long silence, then I hear the connection - then something clatters, Kanji swears, and then - "Whuh? Who's - Dammit, who is this?"

"Ah... It's me. Did I disturb you?"

"What?" More fumbling. I think he's sitting up. "Shit, are you in trouble? What's going on?"

"What?" I ask right back, dodging a group of tourists. "What do you mean? I'm fine."

"Then-" It starts as a question and ends on a shout. "The hell you calling in the middle of the night for?"

I stop, not caring as two businessmen nearly collide with me. I wince, start to calculate what time it must be in Japan, then decide I'd rather not know. "I - I'm sorry, I'm still out of it. I didn't think. It's only afternoon here. Please forgive me."

"No - I - uh - I mean - Shit." He exhales. "You took ten years off my life there."

I'm both pleased and annoyed - and embarrassed, which is the strongest of the three, followed shortly by _annoyed_. "You don't need to worry about-"

"I wasn't worrying about you!" he snaps. "I just - calls in the middle of the night never mean something good, and with you over there - alone - all the shit you get yourself into-"

"You don't need to worry about me," I reiterate, voice rising, impatience with myself, residual anger at Oliver, and dread of another coughing fit blundering in the background of my thoughts. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, need I remind you? And if you are _not_ worried about me, Kanji Tatsumi, I would appreciate more civil discourse. I apologize for disturbing your sleep. It_ won't_ happen again." And I take the phone from my ear to end the call.

Not fast enough, because I can hear his voice, tinny from distance. "Shut the hell up, I _am_ worried about you!"

I smack the phone back to my ear, my voice coming in a rapid clip. "That's what I thought, it is entirely unnecessary for you to worry, and I consider it condescension at best, an insult at worst, and-"

"Dammit, only you'd be asshatted enough to think that someone worrying about you is an insult!"

"It implies that you think I am incapable of taking care of myself, when in fact I-"

"-halfway across the world, and what if something happens to you, it's not like you're good at staying outta trouble-"

"-if you really were my friend, if you had an ounce of respect for me, you'd realize that I don't need anyone sitting at home wondering if I'm all right or-"

"Screw this! I don't care! Do whatever the hell you want."

I have an excellent rebuttal, but the connection ends before I can even start.


	4. Chapter 4

**Day Three - Afternoon**

"So I - Whoa. Naoto-kun." Rise's expressive eyes are nearly round when she catches sight of me. She watches as I approach the step she's sitting on, twisting the end of her belt in her hands. When I stop in front of her, she swallows and asks, "You didn't really put Adam in traction, did you?"

"I -" I cut off, bring my hand up to tip my cap over my eyes - but no, she's sitting, she can still see my face - she's already seen my face - there is no bearing this gracefully so why don't I throw a tantrum right here on the pavement - Kanji Tatsumi is not worth the effort of a tantrum - though right now, I feel it would be patently effortless. "I am - fine," I manage. "There was merely an altercation between myself and - an associate."

"Oh. An altercation." That slow nod I cannot stand. "Sure. Well, you know, if you wanna blow off some steam-" she taps the step next to her "-Rise's right here."

"No, don't concern yourself with it." I sigh heavily, then join her on the step, pushing my cap back to rub my forehead, then sliding the brim down again.

And she slips cheerfulness onto her face. "So what'd you learn?"

I close my eyes, gathering myself - discarding all thoughts of tattooed tailors - and say, "I will spare you the verbatim account. It was not flattering." Her eyes round again, demanding explanation. If I can help it, she'll never hear anything of what Oliver said. "Suffice it to say that he lied and speculated throughout, and if he spoke those words publicly, you could press charges for slander. I recorded all of it, so you are more than capable of roasting him to a cinder."

"Aw, Naoto-kun, you're a sweetheart. I love having a detective on my side."

"I'll download the file for Inoue-san as soon as-" As soon as I can get myself back together. Honestly, I'm such a wreck that Kanji of all people has given up on me. What good is being the Detective Prince with nearly sixty cases to her name if you can't out-argue _Kanji Tatsumi_? If all your mental library is in disarray because you were imbecile enough to call him in the middle of the night and make him worry - no, why am I defending him? He threw the first punch, assuming I'd be in trouble of any kind.

"...And I'm sure you'd find this fascinating if you were actually listening to me, Naoto-kun." As I shake myself and turn to Rise, she gives me a sympathetic pout. "Those other detectives are really running you ragged, huh? I've never seen you so out of it, not since we pulled you out of the TV."

"It's the cold," I say automatically, unable to stop my thoughts as they're yanked back to my rescue from the TV World. Kanji insulted me then too, once we were safely out of it. Well, if worrying is such a nuisance to him, he needn't bother. I indulge a moment, imagining him lying in bed, unable to sleep because he's fulminating over my scathing - _scathing_ - rhetoric...then realize that I'm sitting here imagining Kanji Tatsumi lying in bed. I rest my chin against the heel of my hand, hiding the red flare across my cheek from Rise, who's saying something about Oliver. Must attend to her. She's a much better friend than Kanji.

"-just want to be sure Senpai doesn't think anything's really going on. I mean - I feel like he trusts me, but when you spend so much time apart, you know, these thoughts just slip into your head. Especially when I do all these love scenes, not that they mean anything... And it's just human nature, I guess, I worry about _him_ sometimes. He's really good-looking and charming, and I know I'm not the only girl who's noticed."

"Mm," I say, trying to pick up the thread of this. "Yes, Souji-senpai's certainly very attractive." My phone beeps. I glance down. Of course it's my colleagues. (Why would it be Kanji? I never expected it to be Kanji.) As I set the phone to my ear, I notice Rise's giving me a sharp look, and I wave my hand as the best apology I can offer. I don't blame her for being annoyed at the interruption, to say nothing of my inattention. The message is brief, but as soon as I hang up, I have to leave. "I'm sorry, Rise-chan, it's important." The baklava vendor is at the station, waiting to be questioned, and it's literally a matter of minutes before the owner of Taste of Djibouti realizes he's under suspicion and tries to get out of the city. Rise says something as I head off at a run, but I don't hear what it is.

We're questioning the baklava vendor (and trying to stay abreast of the restaurant owner's movements) for most of the afternoon. By six, we've caught the restaurant owner and gotten a full confession. Case closed. Around eight-thirty, I find myself stumbling back into my suite, head pounding, throat raw from talking so much. As I open the door, I'm met with the fragrance of curried shrimp. Also crème brûlée, I believe. Souji turns from the small stove. "Good timing."

"Senpai, I - this was the last thing I was expecting." I close the door behind me. "I usually just eat out."

"I promised I'd help with the housework," Souji says, pulling half a smile. "Consider it payment for your help in this."

_This._ Yes. His great plan to propose to Rise. Who is waiting for Oliver's recording. I'm about to deflect, say I can't relax, there's still work I need to do, I'll just grab something, but - no. Damn, I am exhausted. Surely I can spare a quarter hour for myself and my guest. Still, graciousness doesn't come easily, even as I sit, sighing with relief. "Then I am...amply remunerated, Senpai. Thank you."

Souji is good enough to wait until we're mostly through the shrimp, the crème brûlée about to go into the oven, before beginning our planning session. "So," Souji says, "I'm thinking, if it's too much of a production, too much can go wrong. But it's Rise, so I want it to be really memorable. So I want to keep this simple but amazing."

I hold off from rubbing my aching forehead. "Tangibles would be useful."

"Okay," Souji says, "I've already decided on balloon animals - don't worry, I can make them myself; I learned how from this circus clown I met a couple months ago, he was having self-esteem issues - anyway - and I was hoping you could hook me up with a fog machine. I know, not exactly simple, but I think it'll be worth the extra effort when I come out in the T-Rex suit."

"Senpai..." Without realizing it until now, I've been kneading my temples. "Rise will accept you, fog machine or no fog machine."

"I hope so," he says, and there's a rare shadow of uncertainty on his face, just for a moment. "But you know Rise. She's flamboyant. I want this to be special for her."

I sigh, too wise to argue with love. Or too ill. "This is New York City. Anything you want can be procured here. Consider a fog machine yours."

"Secondly, I was hoping we could use this room as a venue," Souji goes on. "It's a nice, controlled location, and if anything embarrassing happens, at least it's not public." I nod, closing my eyes and wincing. "And I was also thinking..." It takes me a moment to realize he's trailed off, another moment to heave my eyes open. He's looking at me, a concerned frown on his face. "You okay there?"

"I-it's been a long day," I settle on. "And this cold just keeps lingering."

He grimaces. "Sorry to hear that. Wish I could cast an Amrita or something. Should we call it a night?"

"No - no, by all means, we should plan." I don't add that the sooner he proposes, the sooner he can leave and I can have one burden eased from my shoulders.

After another minute or so, we've dispensed with the T-Rex suit - we both feel it projects entirely the wrong symbolism for a proposal - and Souji's wondering out loud if he can procure a set of plate mail instead. I must admit, being swept up by a knight in shining armor in a big production would be quite to Rise's tastes... It's a pity Daidara is so far away... And Souji feels the balloon animals would probably be distracting. He's still resolute about the fog machine. He's made me some lemon tea, which I'm bent over, inhaling the steam, trying to say as little as possible as he streamlines this project on his own.

I jump as there's a sudden knock at the door. Souji rises to get it, but I wave him off. My door, my responsibility. Leaving my cap on the table, I cross the room and open the door.

"Heya," says Rise. "Just wanted to catch up with you about Adam. Mind if I come in? Whoa, hey-" She steps forward, grabbing my arm. "You look terrible. You need to lie down."

"No - I - I'm perfectly - I'm just surprised to see you, but really, I feel quite fine-"

"Silly Naoto, stop trying to be so adult. Lie down and I'll get you something cool for your forehead." And still holding my arm, she walks in and closes the door behind her. I watch her face, not daring to turn around. She still looks concerned. No shock, no wide-eyed stare at the room behind me. Souji must have disposed of himself somehow. "Yeesh, Naoto, your face is white and your eyes are all bugged out. Too cute. Well, lie down."

"Rise-chan, I - I-" I cannot think of a reason to get her out of here. I'm contagious? No, I've already shown that I'm willing to be around other people. I feel queasy? I certainly do, and that won't stop her. I sink onto the sofa, never minding the rumpled blanket. The only thing I can do is cooperate and get her out of here as soon as possible.

"Now, then, I - huh?"

I turn. Rise is standing at the small table, looking at the two sets of plates and flatware. The oven beeps. The crème brûlée is ready.

Rise blinks and looks at me, mystified. "Were... Did you have someone over?"

"I didn't invite anyone to dinner, no," I say weakly. "Eh... There was extra food and...I thought I should set out more. That's all."

Rise nips her lower lip. "Maybe you're feverish too. Oh, Naoto-kun." She comes over to feel my forehead. "I hate the way you overwork yourself. Lie _down _already." Swallowing, I ease myself to the sofa pillows. "You're kinda flushed and clammy. Maybe we should go to the hospital?"

"No," I say firmly. "The hospital is quite unnecessary. All I need is rest and-" ah, inspiration "-and quiet. Quiet." Solitude is necessary for quiet.

"No problem," Rise says. "I'll be plenty quiet. Lemme get these dishes for you. Wow, curried shrimp. I didn't know you were that ambitious. You're usually kind of blah when it comes to cooking." I hear as she scrapes the dishes, then starts running the sink faucet. "Senpai makes the most exquisite curried shrimp. Also crème brûlée. Is...?" She glances at the oven, then shakes herself. "You have to try it sometime. When I'm there, of course," she adds on a giggle. Finished with those dishes, she comes back to the couch and studies me. "You need more pillows. Hold on, I'll get some." And heads towards my bedroom.

I don't need to wonder. I know where Souji is. "Rise-chan," I say as her hand's two inches from the door knob, "I don't need pillows. I'm quite fine, actually. I think the pillows would make me stuffy."

She gives me a _Mama Rise knows better than you _look, but just goes back to the sink, folds a swath of paper towels and runs it under the cold faucet. Then she comes over, kneels and pats it on my forehead, apologizing as water drips into my eyes.

"And - you know - I'm sorry about the whole Adam thing," she says softly. "I didn't realize you were feeling so cruddy when I asked you."

"It's fine." The water feels lovely, but I'm hoping she'll just leave. How long is Souji going to have to hide in my bedroom? What if she decides to go in for something? There's always the bathroom, maybe he can duck in there. Though it's smaller than a closet. He'd better not be poking around my luggage... "We have his statements. All you need to do is show them to Inoue-san and I'm sure he'll agree that your public image would only suffer from further association with Oliver."

"Your throat sounds bad." She gets me my cup of tea. "You've really been busy, huh? Curried shrimp and tea. You gotta stop doing all this, Naoto-kun." My phone beeps. "Let me answer it," Rise says, voice rising. "I'll give those detectives something to investigate!"

But I've already hitched the towel off my eyes and opened my phone to see who the call's from. My chest tightens. It's Kanji. The phone beeps again as I stare at it, thinking how sweet it would be to just leave him calling.

But I press my lips together. Some confrontations I can back out of, some provocations I can easily ignore. This call is not one of them. I swallow - to ensure my voice comes smoothly - and set the phone to my ear, speaking flatly. "Hello?"

"Naoto, I - uh - H-how you doin'?"

"I am fine. But you expected otherwise."

"Shit, don't - Look, you really gonna hold this against me?"

"Hold what against you?" I ask, maintaining perfect control over tone and inflection. Rise, meanwhile, has gone back to the dishes, though I'm sure she's lending one ear. "The misguided concern of an acquaintance is of no importance to me."

I expect him to shout, but there's a pause, and I think I hear him swallow. "I'm sorry," he says heavily. "I was an asshole, okay? Can we go back to normal?"

I tap my thumbnail against the phone. Honestly, I'm annoyed he's given in so easily. Can't he take a fight? (Doesn't he realize I was acting like an idiot?) What does he want from me anyway?

"Naoto?" he asks.

I take a deep breath, and a cough tickles my throat. "Why did you insult me once you realized I was all right?" The dishes clink as Rise sets them on the counter.

"I just - you know..."

"No, I don't know. What are you trying to say?"

"I was afraid that - I-I've been - uh - I've been meaning to - I couldn't sleep and-"

Why is it, when I'm suddenly hanging on each word, he can't spit out anything but fragments? (Why I'm suddenly hanging on each word is something I'll analyze later.) Behind me, I hear a door creak open.

"I..." He swallows again, and his voice softens, making my cheeks warm. "Naoto... I..."

"What the-?" comes from my bedroom.

"Damn!" I say, sitting up, twisting to look behind me. Rise is not at the sink. The bedroom door's open. From this angle, I can see the edge of one of Rise's legs. Something about her ankle definitely suggests surprise.

"What?" Kanji snaps. "What're you swearing me out for?"

There's a loud banging on my front door. I stand, irresolute, able to hear Souji talking very quickly but too rattled to make out the words. Kanji is saying my name. As a fist falls on my door again, I make for it, wondering how I'll explain things to Rise.

"What're you doing in her bedroom?" comes Rise's voice, aghast and wavery and shocked and many other unhelpful things. "You - you're _the one who cooked the crème brûlée?_"

I open the door. There stands Adam Oliver.

"Naoto, answer me!" Kanji's voice breaks, fearful. "Are you hurt?"

"I've been, uh... Rise-chan," Souji tries.

"Finally found you," Oliver says, pushing into my room and slamming the door behind him. I put my hand in my pocket, fingers sliding into place along my pistol. "I thought I saw you talking with Rise in Union Square. Looks like I was right. And she led me right to you." He runs his hand through his hair, then leans against the wall, very nicely. Probably had to practice the gestures for a role. "Lunch today. It was a set-up, wasn't it?"

"S-so what's going on?" Sobs shake Rise's voice. "My boyfriend and my best friend? This sounds like a terrible soap opera. Is that it?"

"No, I swear, it looks much worse than it actually is-"

"Dammit!" There is a loud slap from the other room. "Don't come near me, you pimple!"

"Look." Oliver leans over me - he's quite tall, almost as tall as Kanji, and I bend all my willpower to not backing away. "I'll bet any money you kept recording me. So how's this, Ohtani? Something's going to have to be turned inside out. It's either the recorder or you. Be a smart guy." He grabs my shoulders, fingers pushing down.

This certainly qualifies as assault, and if he does try anything, I can add battery to my charges against him. Speaking of battery, there's another slap from the next room, Rise shouting, "Stop trying to explain yourself, you can talk your way out of anything, Mr. Charm, and I'm sick of it!"

"Answer me or I swear I'm coming over, I don't care how many planes I gotta jack!" from my phone. I catch my breath, struck by the passion in Kanji's voice, the faulty logistics of his plan notwithstanding.

"So what's it gonna be, pretty boy?" Oliver growls, removing one hand and folding it into a tight fist.

"Naoto, back me up!" And from behind me, I can hear Souji stalk into the room. "I'm just here because - the hell?"

"Adam?" Rise squeaks.

"Huh?" says Oliver, aggressive posture drooping as he takes in the other two. "What's-?" I turn as well. Rise's tear-stained. Souji has a very bright red mark across his left cheek.

I take a deep breath, drawing strength from within, steadying my voice and my thoughts. "Rise-chan, calm down. Souji is only here for convenience, and he came to see you. I have no designs upon him."

"What?" says Kanji, breathing hard. "Rise's there?"

"What?" says Rise, looking from me to Souji several times. "I - oh hell..." She covers her face with her hands. "I'm sorry, I just - all the stress-" She looks at me again, gulping, trying to laugh as she laughs so many things off. But she can't quite. "I mean, Souji's so amazing, it's hard for me to realize that not everyone's really in love with him. And I...I thought _he_ thought I was loving up Adam..."

"What?" says Souji, darting a sharp look at Oliver and setting himself, hands forming fists.

"Hey-!" Oliver yaps, half stepping back. I don't blame him in the slightest.

"Of course I'm not in love with Souji," I say, focusing on breathing steadily and overcoming my congested head, complimenting myself for composure in the face of disaster. "I am in love with Kanji."

It takes me a moment to realize Souji and Rise are staring at me, eyebrows raised. I blink, reviewing what I just said.

What...I just said...

I drop my phone and wheel on Oliver, gun leveled at his torso. "Get out."

"What?" he bleats like a small lamb. "Don't point that toy at me!" But he releases me and retreats further, arms crossed over his chest.

"Naoto?" comes a tinny voice from the phone on the floor. _"Naoto?"_

"Get out," I say again, looking him in the eye. "Get away from me, and stay the hell away from Rise." As he fumbles for the doorknob, backs out of the door, then wheels and runs, I turn to the others, pocketing my gun. "You two. Go - somewhere. Souji, propose to Rise. Forget the fog machine. I must be alone."

"I - fog machine - propose...?" Rise looks up at Souji, blinking quickly. Souji nods with decision, takes Rise's arm and scoots the both of them out my front door.

As the door clicks shut behind them (and I hear someone spring into a run - and then Oliver yelp in fear, I think), I stare at the phone lying open on the carpet. I bend to pick it up - jerk my hand back - reach for it - fumble it - drop it again - then snatch it back up and hold it to my ear. "H-hello?"

"N-Naoto?"

I clear my throat. "Yes, of course it's Naoto. Who else would it be?"

"Did - did you say... What did you just say then?"

"I said good night, Kanji," I say, and end the call. And stand there a moment, breathing hard, pressing the phone to my cheek. It starts beeping again in an instant, so I shut it off entirely, but I don't put it away. The suite is full of the scent of badly burnt crème brûlée.

I walk into my bedroom, perch on the bed and wrap myself in my comforter. In a moment, I turn my phone back on. Still beeping. I set it to my ear. "Yes?"

"Naoto, I - don't try that, I know what I heard!"

"Yes. Well." I clear my throat, do my best to sound businesslike. End up coughing instead. "I will bid you good night, because I need to get some rest. I have a busy day ahead of me tomorrow. As soon as I'm done talking to you, I am going to order tickets for the first flight back to Japan."

Silence. Then - "Right. Good. B-because if you don't, I _am_ jacking a plane and coming over there!"

"Of course."

"Hell yeah!"

"Well then...good night."

He swallows. "'Night."


End file.
